


gold (always believe in your soul)

by sirsparklepants



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Face-Fucking, Jaskier | Dandelion Is a Little Shit, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Piercings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsparklepants/pseuds/sirsparklepants
Summary: "It's just - oh, I'll just show you." He rolled up his sleeves and put his wrists out for Geralt's inspection.There, glinting on the soft underside of Jaskier's forearms, were two golden rings pushed through the skin, three fingers' width down from the base of his hands. Each ring had a small gold ball at the bottom.-Jaskier gets some new jewelry. Geralt is very, very interested.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 41
Kudos: 540





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream about Jaskier with piercings a couple of weeks ago, so I was compelled to write this. That's how it goes sometimes. The second part should be up soon - it's almost done, I just somehow possess the ability to make one sex scene like five thousand words. All the sex tags apply to part two, sorry.
> 
> If Roach behaves anything like a real horse, it's thanks to Loq and Kaida, because I know jack and shit. Thanks, y'all. Also, if any part of this is canon to the books or games instead of the show, it's because my friends feed me tidbits to support my headcanons. This is pretty dubious with regards to timeline anway. 
> 
> Please note that briefly at the beginning Geralt mistakes Jaskier's piercings for signs of self-harm. They're not, but just be aware.

It took two and a half weeks of nothing but the sounds of birds, beasts, and his own voice talking to Roach for Geralt to admit that he missed company. Not company right then - he was perfectly happy spending weeks and months in relative solitude with just his horse, as he always had been. No, he missed the prospect of knowing he'd run into a friendly face, one truly happy to see him, sooner rather than later. It was months or years between his run-ins with other Witchers, and for most of his life this had sustained him. Yennefer and Jaskier had ruined that.

There was nothing to be done about the situation with Yennefer - not now, not until she was ready. She'd curse him if he tried. But Jaskier was a softer touch, and human - and Geralt's offense had been less great. Perhaps if he tried, he could gain back the prospect of at least one person on the road who genuinely cared for him. If Jaskier refused and rejected him, well, he'd be no worse off than he was now, just down a bit of time. No scathing songs about the teeth of the White Wolf and how he'd turn them on monster or man alike had reached Geralt's ears. Perhaps more importantly, neither had a tragic ballad about the softness of the White Wolf's cock. So there was some hope. He turned Roach's nose to the nearest town of a decent size to begin making inquiries.

It took ten days for him to track down Jaskier. By the eighth, he was becoming increasingly worried that perhaps the bard's bedroom antics had finally prompted someone to violence Jaskier couldn't recover from, as no towns in his widening spiral had news of a bard in flashy clothes with songs of adventure. No one had seen his fine elven lute. A barmaid in a small farming settlement - almost too small to be called a village - did remember a man of Jaskier's description passing through, at least.

"He sang, and one of our local boys played the dulcimer," she said. "Powerful voice, and right lovely. But he didn't play the lute, I would have remembered that. And his clothes were colorful, but no silks or anything, sir."

"Did he say where he was headed?" Geralt asked. It was the first lead he'd gotten, so he'd follow it.

"There's a much larger town two days' walk south," she told him. "He asked if the road was clear, and whether we were likely to get a rain this time of year."

Geralt thanked her and was on his way. If it was Jaskier, he was acting strangely, but he found himself hoping it was, anyway.

It was him, Geralt found, when he tracked him down in the second tavern he tried. There was a bit of a scene, and it was a good thing there was a third tavern down the road for them to get a drink in, but in the end Geralt apologized, and after some yelling and, perhaps, some tears, Jaskier forgave him and agreed to join him again, at least until Geralt found a monster truly worthy of a new ballad.

And everything would have been as good as it gets for a Witcher - Jaskier even was dressing a little more practically - except to Geralt's sensitive nose, the man always smelled faintly of blood.

He'd smelled Jaskier's blood before, of course. The man's hands were sure, but he'd nicked himself shaving or ripped open a callus or cut himself restringing his lute often enough while they traveled together. The difference was that before Geralt knew what had caused it, had been there or could see the wound. Now, Jaskier wore heavier, sturdier fabrics. He didn't roll up his shirtsleeves or gesture quite as effusively. He even cut the time he spent playing his lute in half.

One night he hissed quietly and jerked his hand back when he was stirring their dinner over the fire. That was the last straw. Geralt dropped Roach's currycomb - she snorted in disapproval, but this was important - and caught one of Jaskier's wrists in his hand.

"Ow! Geralt, what do you think you're doing?" Jaskier asked, jerking his arm back and cradling it.

"You're favoring your wrists," Geralt said, with a pointed glance at the one Jaskier was holding. He'd barely gripped it at all. If it had been tight enough to hurt under normal circumstances, Jaskier never would have gotten free. "You have been since I found you. And you smell of blood."

Jaskier's jaw dropped open. "You can smell - well, it doesn't matter how little it is. It's not what you're thinking, although I appreciate your concern!" he said, smiling. "It's just - oh, I'll just show you." He rolled up his sleeves and put his wrists out for Geralt's inspection.

There, glinting on the soft underside of Jaskier's forearms, were two golden rings pushed through the skin, three fingers' width down from the base of his hands. Each ring had a small gold ball at the bottom. The skin the rings were pierced through was a bit puffy and red - and yes, there were traces of blood around the holes, but just a tiny amount. No wonder Jaskier had been surprised Geralt could smell it. He was surprised himself.

"What?" he asked. This was far from what he'd expected.

Jaskier laughed. "Just a bit of foolishness," he said. "I'd wanted them since I was a student, but of course they'd interfere with my playing, so I never got them. When we fought, I thought I'd be quite maudlin and heartbroken for weeks, utterly unable to play. When I was two bottles deep, it seemed like a fantastic idea, since there'd be no music to interfere with, so off I toddled as soon as my breath wouldn't knock the poor man who did this out. And then you showed up two weeks later. You quite pricked a hole in that idea, Geralt," he said.

"Hmm," Geralt hummed, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, don't start," Jaskier said, putting his shirt back to rights. The cuffs were tight enough to keep the rings in place so they didn't catch on anything, Geralt noticed, but they had to irritate the little wounds. "I've been doing perhaps a bit more than I should, I suppose, but I didn't expect my muse to come riding back into my life, smelling out my new decorations!"

"Me or the monsters?" Geralt asked, quirking one side of his mouth up.

"I've yet to find a monster that can surpass you for looks or romantic demeanor," Jaskier said, smiling. "Oh, and Geralt?"

Geralt grunted inquisitively, already half turned back to Roach.

"Just so we don't have any further misunderstandings," Jaskier said, and stuck out his tongue.

Geralt turned to face him fully. In the firelight, there was another glint of gold: a long stud, straight through the middle of Jaskier's tongue.

* * *

Geralt didn't think about it much over the next week. The little mystery had caught his attention, and now it was solved. He took a couple of small contracts for the kinds of monsters that always appeared on the edges of small human settlements, the kind Jaskier had seen him tackle a hundred times. No ballad material here, just enough gold to fill their bellies and replenish their supplies. That was how it was sometimes. Should have been most of the time, but Geralt kept tumbling ass-first into high and mighty bullshit the likes of which a Witcher should really only encounter once a decade, maybe. Jaskier was more used to that part of Witcher work, and it didn't take much longer for him to start unsubtly hinting that perhaps larger towns would have more excitement and larger purses. (Hinting for him, anyway, which mostly meant saying it outright, but not yet progressing to rhyming his demands and then putting them to music.)

"I'd love to go somewhere with a decent tailor, too," Jaskier was saying. "These clothes are all right, I suppose, but I think between what I've managed to save on our little trip and what I can earn in a town or two - or a city! - I can afford to dress in the manner in which I'm accustomed again."

Geralt frowned. "What happened to your old clothes?" he asked. Last time he'd seen Jaskier, that red doublet with the scale pattern pressed into it had been immaculate. Geralt's adventures were hard on clothes, but Jaskier had gotten very good at rescuing both his outfits and his instrument over the years.

Jaskier laughed. "You didn't think these came cheap, did you?" he asked, waving his wrists in illustration. "I had to find a professional who could stick a needle in my wrists but leave the arteries and tendons alone, not to mention the nerves in my tongue!"

"You sold it?" Geralt asked. "But…" He certainly wasn't an expert on clothing, but there had been enough time in markets with Jaskier and Yennefer both, talking to the leatherworker as whoever he was with had increasingly animated discussions with the clothier a few stalls down, that he'd picked up some things. One of them had been the cost of the kinds of fabrics that Jaskier favored, and Geralt thought the material alone would cover the cost of his jewelry twice over.

"But my jacket alone was three times the worth of the work?" Jaskier finished for him. "Well, it was, yes, but if I wasn't playing, I did have to eat. Nothing much for the first week, which helped. I hoped by the time I ran out of money, I'd also have run out of melancholy and I could play again. And look!" He gestured grandly at the forest around them. "So it is!"

"Luck," Geralt said, looking back down at the sword in his lap.

Jaskier sniffed. "Excuse me, it is not luck. It's the sheer force of my sparkling wit and radiant personality, that you felt deprived without my company and had to make amends for your grievous error in casting me aside."

Geralt actually laughed at that, a short bark. He hadn't said it, not in so many words, but they both knew it was true.

Jaskier grinned at him, and then made a strange face at him, as if he was sticking out his tongue without actually doing so. It was punctuated by a little click of metal, and Geralt realized that he'd tapped the bar in his tongue against the backs of his teeth, as a little punctuating noise of triumph. Geralt gripped the polishing cloth a little harder.

* * *

The clicking became a habit. Geralt wished it didn't. It took up far more of his attention than he could afford. All the other little noises that Jaskier was constantly making - not just the music and the talking, but his footsteps, his breath, the rustling of his clothes, the drumming of his fingers on whatever he could reach - had worked their way into the background over the course of their first few days traveling together. Geralt only noticed them now when they suddenly changed. But Jaskier clicking his tongue piercing against his teeth? That he couldn't ignore.

He didn't lie to himself about why it had his attention. There'd been an attraction simmering between the two of them for a long time, never acknowledged but always felt. First Geralt had been annoyed by Jaskier, then he feared losing him, and then there had been Yennefer. But now - he was still annoyed by Jaskier, but in a way that was somehow fond. He had lost Jaskier, and gotten him back. And if ever Geralt and Yennefer had been tied like that - exclusively, with no outside dalliances - they certainly weren't now. That little click, metal on teeth, was enough to remind Geralt of all the times he'd thought of just feeding Jaskier his cock, violently or gently, just to give that tongue a rest.

He could hear it over the things about Jaskier he tuned out, now. They were following a villager's directions to the nearest large town - Geralt having given in to the demands of both Jaskier and his purse - and Jaskier was composing on the road. This was nothing new; the starting and stopping of the lute, the muttered snatches of verse. It was worth no more attention than the noises of the wildlife. But that gods-bedamned _clicking_ had Geralt's hands clenching on Roach's reins. Jaskier clicked the piercing when he was thinking. He clicked it in satisfaction when he found something he was happy with. He even clicked the fucking thing in time with his strumming.

"Will you stop that?" Geralt burst out eventually, when his grip on the reins made Roach pin back her ears and arch her neck.

"Stop what?" Jaskier asked from beside him. "Composing? Geralt, I know the past two weeks haven't exactly been the most riveting material, but if I'm to make enough money for us both to have comfortable beds, I've got to have something new. I know just what you've been pulling in from these contracts."

Geralt forced himself to unclench his fingers. Roach didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his frustration. "Not that," he said. "The fucking clicking. It's like a man jiggling his knee hard enough to shake the whole table next to you at a tavern. Would you _stop_?"

"Clicking?" Jaskier echoed, honestly bewildered. "I don't - oh! You mean the piercing."

"I mean the piercing," Geralt agreed grimly.

"Didn't even notice I was doing it, to be quite honest," Jaskier said. "I have no wish to spill your metaphorical dinner on you. I shall try to stop."

Geralt breathed a sigh of relief. Roach's posture relaxed. Jaskier went back to composing, and it faded into the background, as it should be. Geralt kept his eyes on the road ahead and let his shoulders relax, just a little.

It lasted for ten minutes. Then the clicking came back.

* * *

"Fire hot, fire hot, rise up high and heat this pot, cook us a supper we want a lot," Jaskier sang under his breath as he coaxed a fire to life. It was just one of the little nonsense ditties he was always singing when frustrated, and Geralt only listened with half an ear as he butchered their grouse.

"Ah!" Jaskier exclaimed as the dry grass finally caught. "Perfect. Hmm, I think there might be something in that song. No great ballad, but tavern songs are bread and butter these days." He hummed and picked up his lute, strumming a few chords. "We stoke our little fire hot, and hang a little cooking pot! In it we cook our lovely supper - hm, what's a decent rhyme for supper?" He clicked then piercing against his teeth, contemplative.

Geralt nearly groaned aloud. Jaskier was truly unaware of both the action and the effect it had on Geralt, he was sure, or the man would have been far more ostentatious about it. Subtleties were beyond him. But that didn't mean that the effect was less potent. To save himself from further contemplation of Jaskier's tongue, Geralt asked, "Why did you get them?"

The noise from the fire stopped for a moment as Jaskier presumably pondered what he meant. "My jewelry, you mean?" he asked. Geralt grunted in assent, so he continued, "I thought I told you this already. I wanted them a long time, and the timing seemed right. They are quite lovely adornments, and you know I'm quite fond of decorations." He flipped his wrist in a clever turn designed to catch the little rings in the light of the fire and set them to winking. Geralt had watched him practice this on the road, getting the movement exactly right, but it didn't make the move less likely to get his attention.

"All kinds of baubles that don't need to go through your skin," Geralt said, reaching for a damp stick Jaskier had left him to spit the grouse with.

"Rings get in the way of playing, unless you only wear one or two, and then what's the point? Bracelets are the same, and I'm not stupid enough to give myself more of a leash around my neck when I'm traveling with you, Geralt. Some monster could snag it, or I could catch it on a branch. Besides, I've left bigger items in bedrooms before. They'd get lost so easily!" Jaskier said, taking the spit and fitting it over the fire.

Geralt hummed. Given the bard's lifestyle, that was a fair point. That was an awful lot of coin to leave if he was chased out of a bed unexpectedly.

Jaskier grinned. "Of course, the… sensual potential of any of them can't be denied," he said, licking his lips lasciviously so the little gold ball flashed. Geralt followed the movement with his eyes. He didn't recall watching Jaskier practice this.

"Do you know what I mean?" Jaskier asked, and the ring in his wrist caught the firelight again as he pressed a finger to his mouth.

Geralt snorted. "People the next kingdom over know, Jaskier," he said. "I'm going to go wash all this blood off."

The problem was that he did know, intimately, what Jaskier meant. He'd had partners before who liked to be restrained, and Geralt had enjoyed doing the restraining. The little rings in Jaskier's wrists were so precarious. All he needed was a length of delicate golden chain, and the man couldn't move without risking injury. It would be a new experience for Geralt. One he thought on quite a bit.

The tongue, though. That one wouldn't be new. One of the brothels in Redania about fifteen years back had employed a girl from the far south. She'd had holes in her ears, her nipples, and her tongue, and she'd been determined to lick Geralt with it in every little place. By the time he'd fucked her, his cock had been sticky with spit, precome, and her juices from where she'd rubbed over him, teasing them both. He'd come to a shattering peak and barely stumbled out of the brothel and into his room at the inn before he'd collapsed into bed. He'd slept for six hours solid, a record when traveling alone, and hadn't started to get that hot, restless urge for weeks after. Jaskier's tongue was clever, and every time he clicked that fucking piercing, Geralt wondered if he was really as good with it as that woman in the brothel.

* * *

Unfortunately, Jaskier had been right, and there was more money in the bigger town to the south. And while it wasn't exactly the stuff of songs, fighting two rabid rock trolls certainly gave Jaskier more to work with than the drowners, wolves, and nekkers they had encountered over the last month. Geralt had wanted to reason with them, but they seemed beyond that, so he'd killed them. And now he and Jaskier were butchering them, side-by-side. No use wasting potential potions ingredients.

It had been a long time since Jaskier had been squeamish about helping Geralt dig bits out of monsters, so when he stopped moving abruptly, Geralt looked up to see what was the matter.

"Geralt," Jaskier said slowly. "Rock troll blood isn't - poisonous to humans or anything like that, is it? You handed me the gloves just for the mess."

"You didn't lick it or anything, did you?" Geralt said with sudden urgency. He wasn't actually sure if rock troll blood was harmful; but the livers were in several of the potions he knew were toxic to humans, and he'd rather not take the chance.

Jaskier snorted. " _No_. I'm not a babe in the woods any more! Besides, I only put my tongue on living beings. It's just... " He lifted one wrist up. There were streaks of rock troll blood on his forearm, where the glove didn't cover. There was a particularly large gobbet on his jewelry. The jewelry that was pressed through his still-healing skin.

Geralt hissed. Why hadn't he thought of that? That close to the arteries, any contamination could go right into Jaskier's blood, and fast. "All right, stop," he said. "Go wash that off. Not in that little stream, it's too close to the town. Build a fire and boil some water. I'll be there soon."

Jaskier frowned. "The stream is right there," he said. "Be much easier. I don't need hot water all the time."

"Not for bathing, but for wounds, you do," Geralt said. "The stream is too close to the town. Too many humans. Gets it… dirty, not good for the sick or wounded to drink." Another reason he didn't like big towns and cities.

"I'm hardly mortally wounded, Geralt. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't even think of it, but monster blood does tend to have some odd effects, or you wouldn't be able to use it in your potions," Jaskier said, smiling oddly.

Geralt grunted. "It's right over the artery," he said. "Boil it anyway."

When Jaskier left, Geralt sped up the butchering process for the trolls quite a bit. It was messy, and he really only bothered with the hearts and livers. If the carcasses hadn't attracted wildlife by then, he'd come back for the hides in the morning. He scraped off the worst of the blood - he'd wash his hands in Jaskier's boiling water - and headed towards the sounds of humming.

Jaskier had done a good job, and their little pot was just beginning to steam when he caught sight of Geralt. "I thought you'd be a bit longer!" he said. "Skins drying?"

"I'll take care of them tomorrow," Geralt said, and sat down.

Jaskier's face fell. "So the troll blood," he said. "It's really bad then."

Geralt shrugged. "Probably not," he said. "Don't rightly know, but it won't kill you. I know less about how humans react to things than you'd think."

A subtle tension in Jaskier's shoulders cleared. "Well, I knew it wouldn't kill me, of course," he said. "If I was dying, we'd be riding off to a healer or a magical cure. I do have experience with these things, after all. I was only afraid it would - maim me, in some way. My wrists are almost as important to my livelihood as my voice is, after all!"

"I know that," Geralt said. "If I thought your playing was in danger, we wouldn't be trusting to my doctoring."

A smile broke over Jaskier's face. "Well! That's quite kind of you to say, Geralt, but I trust your doctoring quite a bit. You've picked up quite a bit over the years, of course, and no one knows monster injuries like you. In this case, I'm quite happy to place myself in your capable hands."

A vision of what, exactly, that might look like worked its way across Geralt's mind, and he blinked it away, grunting. Now was not the time.

"The water has been boiling for a little while now. Do you think it's properly ready?" Jaskier asked.

It had been bubbling for several minutes, and Geralt hummed and moved it off the fire to cool in answer. Then he went digging through Roach's saddlebags for the cleanest scraps of his most recently ruined shirt.

"Here," he said, thrusting most of them at Jaskier. "Clean them off. Did the man who did them give you something for them if they became irritated or weeping?" "He didn't give me anything," Jaskier said, accepting the cloths and wetting them carefully in the hot water, "but he did tell me to grind one part yarrow into four parts strong wine, put it on a poultice, and hold it to the wound for ten minutes, if I had any problems."

"Don't have wine, but I do have vodka and yarrow," Geralt said, satisfied that this should hopefully stave off any problems. "I'll get it."

He washed his own hands off thoroughly, and had brought out his potion-making tools by force of habit before he looked down at them. He knew for a fact there were plenty of things he'd ground up in this mortar and pestle that were toxic to humans. Wouldn't do any good to save Jaskier from monster blood only to poison him with something else. All right. He'd have to improvise then.

Luckily, the ground around them was rocky, and it wasn't difficult to find two rocks of the proper shape. Geralt dropped them both into the steaming water and waited before he brought them out and began to grind the yarrow.

Jaskier had come to sit next to him as he worked, hands clean of blood, and when the mixture was finished, Geralt took his hand, turning the arm up so the wrist was exposed. Jaskier let him, didn't resist for even a moment, even when Geralt held the vodka-soaked cloth against his jewelry. He winced, just a little, at the sting, and that was it. His body was lax with perfect trust. Geralt kept his eyes on the arm in his hands. He couldn't look at Jaskier's face. Not right now.

"Ten minutes, you said?" he asked, and his voice was lower than he was used to.

"Ten minutes," Jaskier agreed. He didn't tell Geralt he was perfectly capable of holding a piece of cloth in place by himself. He didn't say anything else at all. Instead, he kept himself willingly captive to Geralt's hands in the stillness of the afternoon. Together, the two of them simply breathed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not, in any way, expect to get chapter two out nearly this fast. I expected it on Monday at the earliest, but all your kudos, comments, and bookmarks sent me into a writing frenzy until I banged out the last thousand words of this in a fervor. Thanks to Kaida for giving the porn a lookover to make sure I didn't miss anything egregious! There's a hopefully shorter epilog coming along at some point where we see the "receiving piercings" portion of piercing kink, but for now, this story is complete. (And because I forgot to say so before, the title is from Spandau Ballet.)

Geralt gritted his teeth and consciously relaxed his legs as Roach danced uncertainly under him. This had been going on all afternoon, and a few times, when Jaskier had ceased singing and instead tapped his jewelry against his teeth in time with the strumming of his lute, Roach had taken his tension for a signal and had sped up under him, cantering off and leaving Jaskier behind for a few minutes. The first time the bard caught up to them both, he looked a bit concerned. By the third time, he'd apparently taken it as some form of nonverbal critique, and had consciously courted such an occurrence to work out the worst passages in his potential melodies. Geralt wasn't sure he'd ever been more grateful for the sign of an inn. 

"Are we stopping already?" Jaskier asked beside him. "I won't complain for the chance to sleep off the ground, but there's two hours to sunset yet and I thought we'd be making camp tonight to make good time tomorrow." 

"We aren't," Geralt said shortly.

"Well, I can see _that_ ," Jaskier answered. "Oh! Is there another contract here we've taken? Why haven't I heard anything about it? Did you organize a surprise hunt for me, Geralt, you wily bastard?" He sounded absolutely gleeful at the prospect of a quite dangerous surprise, of course. 

A wild idea gripped Geralt. It wasn't a good one, but after two months of thinking about Jaskier's tongue with every other breath, Geralt wasn't sure he had any good ideas left. "I do… have a surprise for you," he said, looking over at Jaskier, whose eyes were bright with delight. "Go inside and get us a room - just one. I'll bring in our things. You'll see then." 

"Should I get us dinner?" Jaskier asked, already halfway to the inn door. 

"Not yet," Geralt said. "Maybe after. Bath would be good." 

"Intriguing," Jaskier said, tapping his fingers to his mouth. Then he whirled around again, letting the noise of an early evening pub crowd briefly out into the outside air. 

Geralt dismounted Roach as his other companion disappeared. His horse stared at him balefully, annoyed at the restless afternoon. "I know, girl," he whispered, as he waved off the stablehand and began removing her tack and saddlebags himself. "I know we decided it would get too messy to fuck him a long time ago. But I fucked up once and he's still here. If I fuck up again I can probably make up for it."

Roach snorted, and Geralt paused to pat her muzzle. "I have to go in thinking like that because things always go to shit. But I'm going to fuck things up royally if he doesn't let me fuck him or tell me to fuck off." 

Roach tossed her head, and Geralt smiled at her as he finished. "Either way you're in for a calmer ride, eh, girl?" he said, and let himself out of the stall. He tossed a coin to the stable boy for her feed, and made his way inside. 

Jaskier was already upstairs; Geralt could hear the splashing of water as he chatted up the inn staff who were filling their bath. "-quite mysterious," he was saying. "Never a dull moment, and I expect tonight to be exciting as well, though I don't yet know how. Ah, Geralt!" he said, as Geralt opened the door. "Your timing is magnificent. The bath is steaming hot, thanks to this lovely lady and gentleman." He gestured at the staff, who giggled at the bard's dramatics. 

"Hmm," Geralt grunted. Then, thinking he should make an effort under the circumstances, "thanks." 

"Of course, of course. I know how hot you like your bath, so I shan't keep you from it. If you'll excuse us?" Jaskier asked the young man and woman. Neither one of them looked like they'd mind assisting with baths for either of them, but with this gentle dismissal, they turned for the door. 

"Thank you kindly," Jaskier called out behind them, and firmly shut the door. He turned around and made a hurrying gesture to Geralt. "Why aren't you halfway to in the bath by now?" 

"Thought we could share," Geralt said. Despite what he'd said to Roach, any offer between Jaskier and himself had been years ago. Geralt wouldn't make unwelcome advances when he'd just gotten Jaskier back. He needed to… test the waters. 

"Share?" Jaskier asked. His pulse quickened satisfyingly and his pupils grew, just a touch. So far, so good. 

"Share," Geralt said, taking his shirt off to sweeten the pot. "Unless it's too hot for you." 

Jaskier swallowed. "No, not at all," he said. "It's just that it's going to make for awfully tight quarters, is all. 

Geralt paused with his trouser laces halfway open. "I don't mind if you don't."

Jaskier took in a deep breath and visibly firmed himself. (Not that way. Not yet, though Geralt's gaze dropped to check.) When he spoke again, his voice was flirtatious, familiar from many nights of hearing him apply it to all and sundry as well as Geralt himself. "I don't mind at all."

Jaskier was right. It was awfully tight quarters in the tub. It was also hot enough to bring a flush to the bard's skin and break him out into a sweat, speed his heart the slightest bit to aid the cooling. It was the closest thing to privacy one could ask for while speaking to a witcher. 

Geralt reached out and tapped one of Jaskier's wrists as he soaped himself up. "They don't smell of blood any more," he said. "That mean they're healed?" 

Jaskier had frozen when Geralt touched them. "Essentially," he said. "I can't leave the jewelry out, but I can change it if I wish, and I don't have to take special care any longer. I might start showing them off." 

"Mm," Geralt said. Then he moved his finger to tap Jaskier's mouth, and left it on his lips as he spoke. "And this one?" 

Under his finger, he could feel Jaskier take in a tiny, shaky breath. "Yes, that one too," he said. "I haven't had the chance to try it with a partner yet, as you well know, but I'm quite looking forward to it." 

"Would you want to?" Geralt asked, voice dropping low, and Jaskier shuddered under him. "With me?" 

In answer, Jaskier opened his mouth and let Geralt's finger fall upon his tongue. The little gold piercing in it glinted wickedly as his mouth closed, and Geralt felt the teasing brush of it as he pulled his finger from Jaskier's mouth. 

Geralt groaned and pulled Jaskier into his lap. That little teasing caress had his blood running hot, and he was not inclined to be patient or gentle as he pulled his companion into a kiss. 

Neither, it seemed, was Jaskier. His lips and tongue were frantic, eager, on Geralt's, hot and wet and pushy. Geralt flicked the piercing experimentally and found it rewarding, so he did it again, until Jaskier was panting and biting into his mouth and grinding into his lap. 

"Mm," he moaned, breaking away to catch his breath, "I would have gotten pierced years ago if I knew that's what did it for you." He punctuated this with a roll of his ass against Geralt's cock, which was demonstrating exactly how eager he was for more. 

"Not sure it would have done it, years ago," Geralt admitted. 

"Well, it's certainly working now, and that's all that matters," Jaskier said. He leaned in, bypassing Geralt's mouth, to give an experimental lick and nip along the straining tendon in Geralt's neck. Geralt's breath caught, and he could feel Jaskier's grin of satisfaction against him." "Did you plan to fuck me in the bath? I'm not objecting, you understand, but if you want to make the fullest use of my jewelry, we'd best move to the bed." 

"Hmm," Geralt grumbled, in an agreeing tone, and secured his grip under Jaskier's ass. Then he stood up and hauled them both out of the tub. 

Jaskier made a shocked noise. "Put me down, you brute," he said, laughing. "You have to negotiate manhandling." 

"Do I?" Geralt asked, putting Jaskier down as requested. 

Jaskier's eyes darkened. "Are you asking to open negotiations?" he asked. 

"I'm asking if you like getting pushed around a bit," Geralt said. He ran his fingers over the nearest wrist piercing again. An odd adornment for a man who didn't. 

"I think you know the answer to that," Jaskier said. "Tell me what you want to do to me, Geralt." 

"Hold you down," Geralt said immediately. "Put you where I want you. Pull your hair. Make you lick me. Fuck your mouth a little. Boss you around and have you _listen_." 

Jaskier was still pressed up against him, and Geralt could feel his cock, pulsing as Geralt spoke. He swallowed. "My, my," he said. "That does sound like a good time." 

Geralt needed no other signal. He threw Jaskier over his shoulder and tossed him onto the bed. Then he followed, pinning his wrists with his hands and his thighs with his knees. It was a fine line to straddle, being rough and controlling without enough force to hurt a human. But it was the kind of test Geralt enjoyed after decades of pitting himself against the worst of beasts. A challenge of control, one he was well up to meeting

Jaskier smiled up at him, not the least bit put out by the treatment. "You've well and truly got me," he said. "What are you going to do with me now that I'm at your mercy?"

"You're not, not quite yet," Geralt said, and leaned down to fit his lips to Jaskier's.

There was heat in this kiss, yes, but the desperation, the urgency, was tamped down to a slow-burning flame that promised night after night of passion. Geralt licked into every bit of Jaskier's mouth, learning all its tastes and textures, while the bard squirmed under him. The jewelry in his tongue was just as satisfying to play with the second time around, and as they kissed, he kept darting back to it, giving it little teasing flicks that he punctuated with sucking on Jaskier's tongue.

Jaskier was a skilled kisser himself, Geralt could tell, and it took him a few moments to yield to Geralt's control. He tried to make the kiss faster, deeper, urgent and desperate again, and every time he tried, Geralt backed up, until their lips were just brushing. Eventually, he gave in with a sweet little sigh, simply responding to everything Geralt did. Geralt hummed into his mouth and ran his teeth slowly along Jaskier's bottom lip.

"Good," he breathed, and worked his way down Jaskier's throat with a row of biting kisses sure to mark. "See what happens when you let me have my way?"

Jaskier moaned and tilted his head back. "I suppose there's some merit to the idea," he said, half breathless and attractively flushed. 

Geralt grinned a predatory wolf's grin against his neck. "Do you know what I want now?" he asked, low and rumbling. He ran his teeth across Jaskier's collarbone just to hear his breath hitch. 

"To drive me half-mad with wanting?" Jaskier gasped. 

"You'd deserve it after what you'd put me through," Geralt said. "But no. Not this time. This time I want to use your tongue to its better purpose." 

Jaskier laughed, a strangled sound, as his heartbeat picked up and a fresh sweat broke out beneath Geralt's hands. "Really? You don't think my ballads are the better of the two?" 

"I've thought about feeding you my cock far more than I've thought about your ballads," Geralt growled into his ear. 

Jaskier laughed again. "Then do it," he said, squirming under Geralt's hands. 

Geralt bent down to kiss him again, a quick, hot toothy thing, before he hauled them around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed and Jaskier was kneeling on the rug beside it. He moved his grip from Jaskier's wrists to the back of his head and neck and spread his knees, pulling the bard between them. "Go on," he said, voice rasping. 

Jaskier looked up at him, a wicked fire burning in his eyes, before he leaned in to take the tip of Geralt's cock into his mouth. 

Geralt took in one deep breath and let his eyes fall half shut as he watched. Jaskier's mouth was warm and lush, and the culmination of a decade of idle fantasies and two months of fixation. Watching his cock disappear inside it, little by little, was everything Geralt had imagined and then some. He wanted to push his hips forward, make Jaskier take it a little faster, but he'd waited this long. He could be patient a little longer. 

Jaskier looked up at him, halfway down with one hand at the base, and winked. Then he pulled off slowly, running his tongue up the underside of the shaft as he went. 

Geralt actually gasped as he reached the head and did some clever little fillip with his tongue. He hadn't thought he'd missed this, in those years since he'd been with that girl, but he had. The little point of hardness in contrast to the soft wet flesh around him teased all the sensitive spots, and as Jaskier bobbed back down, Geralt involuntarily clenched his fingers in Jaskier's hair. This had been worth the two months of build-up. 

Experimentally, Geralt knotted the hand in Jaskier's hair and pulled him up. He went willingly, dragging his tongue as he did, so Geralt pushed him down, the gentlest of suggestions. One Jaskier took to enthusiastically, suckling at his cock and swallowing as he reached the limits of his mouth. His pliability sent a bolt of heat down Geralt's spine. 

"Mmm," he groaned, and pulled Jaskier up again, faster this time, watching his face and breathing his scent for any sign of distress. "I'm going to fuck your mouth now," he said. It was what he'd been thinking of all this time, after all. 

Jaskier moaned in the back of his throat, and pulled against his grip, just a little. Reassured, Geralt held his head in both hands and pushed Jaskier down. 

The bard's hands flew to his hips, but not to push him away, to keep his balance. He licked at Geralt's cock as much as he could as he was moved upon it, spit running out of the corners of his wide-stretched lips. 

Geralt moaned to see it, and his hips twitched forward, pressing at the back of Jaskier's throat as that clever mouth worked even as it was fucked. 

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Geralt asked, voice low and hoarse, as he snapped his hips again. "Always running your mouth, even like this." 

Jaskier dug his nails in and sucked harder in response, just as Geralt pushed him down. The combination forced the head of Geralt's cock past the soft barrier of Jaskier's throat, and he gagged before they both froze. His throat fluttered around Geralt for a few moments before he breathed deeply through his nose a few times and seemingly mastered himself. Geralt tightened his fingers. 

"Is this what it takes to still your tongue?" he asked. Jaskier looked up at him, smelling of tears, just a little, but mostly lust. When Geralt loosened his grip, he didn't move to pull back. In fact, he pushed down a little, before Geralt caught him again. 

"All right," Geralt said. "If you can take it, I'm going to give it to you." 

Jaskier moaned, low and choked, and Geralt started to properly fuck into his mouth. 

He still didn't feed Jaskier his whole cock - the hard made his living in his voice, after all - but the hot tightness of his throat, the sweet contrast of his clever tongue and that little piece of metal, was enough to have Geralt running hot. As he thrust into that finally-still mouth, he stared at Jaskier's face, the mess of spit on his mouth and the tears starting to leak from his eyes, the way his nostrils flared for breath when Geralt pulled back most of the way. He felt the little squeaks and sighs of pleasure Jaskier couldn't help as his mouth was fucked, the compulsive spasming of his fingers on Geralt's hips, and it wound the tight hot spring in his gut tighter and tighter until he was just on the verge of snapping. 

"Fuck," he groaned, and pulled out until just the head of his cock was resting in Jaskier's mouth. "Open up." He tapped Jaskier's jaw. 

The bard did so, but he tried to lick at Geralt with that damn piercing after, and Geralt had to still the motion with two fingers.

"No," he said. "Stay just like this. I want to see myself come all over your tongue and that _fucking_ jewelry." So saying, he started to jerk his cock. He wanted to see Jaskier's tongue painted white, the mouth he'd thought of so much marked with him. 

Jaskier looked his understanding at him, and finally, finally relaxed his jaw and tongue, staring up at Geralt. It was that - the trusting, open eyes and mouth - that twisted the spring to breaking, and Geralt tipped his head forward and panted as he spurted into Jaskier's mouth. 

Jaskier kept his mouth open obediently as Geralt caught his breath. Only when Geralt loosened the hand in his hair and leaned back did he close it and swallow, performatively.

"Everything you dreamed about?" he asked, eyes glimmering, voice hoarse.

Geralt hummed, a low, content rumble, as he thumbed at Jaskier's jaw. "Almost," he said, and smirked at the flash of indignation that showed on Jaskier's face. "What, did you think I was done with you?" He gave Jaskier an obvious up-and-down, lingering on the proud line of his hard cock.

"One doesn't like to assume," Jaskier said, but the flush on his cheeks and the small twitch of his erection gave him away. "I've heard rumors about witcher stamina over the years, of course, but you and I both know what utter shit most of the rumors about witchers are."

"That one," Geralt said, leaning in close to Jaskier's face, "you can credit as true." The embers of his arousal had only dimmed, like coals banked for the night in a campfire. With the slightest stimulation they could be set ablaze again.

Jaskier made a little moaning noise in the back of his throat and leaned in, closing the scant inches needed to bring their lips together. Geralt let him direct this one, showing off his skill, pressing their mouths together passionately in a way that made it obvious how much he wanted to come. It was heady, knowing Jaskier was as wanting as Geralt had been all these weeks. He didn't plan on giving him a reprieve any time soon.

When they pulled apart, Geralt's cock was half-hard, and he watched Jaskier's eyes flick down to it, his lips part. Geralt shook his head once, sharply. "That's not where you're going to use your tongue again," he told him.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. "Oh no? Then where?" he asked, hands still resting on Geralt's hips.

Geralt gently pushed them off, then climbed onto the bed, facedown, arms crossed and chin propped up. It was a position he'd been in in front of Jaskier more than once, but this time, he spread his legs to make his intentions clear. "Well?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

Jaskier's eyes gleamed as he crawled up on the bed behind Geralt. "My dear witcher," he said, cupping the globes of Geralt's ass reverently in his hand. "It would be my unparalleled pleasure."

Geralt turned back, satisfied, the fire in his gut burning hotter with each touch. Jaskier's hands were gentle, but not in the least hesitant as he parted the cheeks of Geralt's ass. He felt a gust of breath - Jaskier had sighed in genuine pleasure - before there was the firm, wet touch of Jaskier's tongue across his hole.

It was good, of course it was good. Geralt hummed low in his throat, more a subvocal growl than anything. But it was a noise of pleasure, and Jaskier took it as such, licking more firmly, longer, getting Geralt used to this kind of touch again. He hadn't trusted anyone with this for a long time, but the hot, melting pleasure of Jaskier's tongue reminded him of how much he'd missed it. 

Then Jaskier gave a broad swipe with the flat of his tongue, and the jewelry caught just so on the edge of his rim. Geralt grunted, startled, and almost jumped. It was a feeling he hadn't expected, and he felt the muscles under Jaskier's hands twitch as he tried to control himself.

"Alright?" Jaskier asked, lifting his head.

Immediately, Geralt wished him back, so it couldn't have been that unpleasant. "Mm," he grunted affirmatively. "Surprising."

He could feel Jaskier's grin against his ass. He was meant to, probably. "Well. I think I shall do my best to endeavor to surprise you again." He lowered his face to Geralt's ass again.

This time, when the piercing caught and dragged at his hole, Geralt was prepared. He still took in a deeper breath than he'd meant to, startled by the smooth hard thing against him. It was good, he decided, as good as the drag of the same bit of metal against his cock. Just as he'd thought that, Jaskier switched to tiny, prodding kitten licks with the tip of his tongue against the furl of Geralt's hole, and that was good too, if different. It made Geralt want a finger inside of him, and then Jaskier went back to the long licks that caught at his hole incidentally. It was maddening, the changeup, and unbearably arousing.

Geralt's cock was fully hard again, had been for a while, and he was panting and rocking his hips back into Jaskier's face. The bard, for his part, was riding with his rhythm enthusiastically, keeping his face buried, seeming to want nothing more than to drive Geralt mad with the workings of his tongue. No different than normal, then, Geralt thought, with a wry moment of clarity in the midst of the hot haze of lust.

He was tempted to let this go on, let his cock twitch and drip onto the bed, hard and red, but he wanted something else. It was hard to think with Jaskier enthusiastically licking at his rim, so Geralt took a deep breath and gently pushed him away with a foot, trying to catch his breath.

"What is it?" Jaskier asked, panting a little himself. "Too much? Not enough?" 

Geralt chuckled, a raspy noise. "Just right," he said, turning to look over his shoulder. Jaskier's hair was a mess, his face flushed and smeared with spit. "Just want something else. You got slick in your kit?" he asked.

Jaskier's eyes widened. He didn't react other than that, though, and a small involuntary uptick in his heartbeat Geralt could hardly blame him for. "Well, of course I do, Geralt, who do you think I am?" he asked.

Geralt smirked back. "Seemed a little rude to assume," he said, even though the question had been more of a cue for Jaskier to go retrieve the little jar he knew he had than anything else.

"I've just rather enthusiastically choked myself on your cock. You've quite earned the right to make whatever assumptions about my sexual peccadilloes you please," Jaskier told him, thankfully while climbing off the bed to go rummage in his things. He showed it to Geralt, but paused before climbing back onto the bed. "You, on the other hand, are giving me some rather mixed messages, my friend, so I shall ask: what exactly are you planning to do with my oil?"

"I want you to slick me up and then fuck me with it," Geralt said, bluntly. "If you're willing."

Jaskier visibly fumbled the pot, carefully setting it down on the bed before climbing back on and giving Geralt's ass a lingering caress. "Willing?" he asked, a little high-pitched. "More than."

"Then _get on with it_ ," Geralt grumbled, turning his head back to the foot of the bed. His cock hadn't flagged yet, but if they kept talking, it might.

Jaskier made a tsking sound behind him. "Witchers," he said, but he was climbing closer to Geralt and making encouraging fumbling noises as he did. "No sense of romance, really." There was a strong, calloused finger at Geralt's rim, and it silenced any further comments he might have had on the subject. The smell of beeswax and olive oil drifted towards Geralt - Jaskier had the expensive stuff, of course. 

His hole was still soft and wet from Jaskier's tongue, and the strokes to the outside led quickly to a slow, steady push of one finger. Geralt sighed and tilted his hips back. The last three people to have done this didn't have hands nearly as steady or as large as Jaskier's, and it felt good as always - the slight drag even with the oil, the yielding clutch of his body. And Jaskier was as good at this as his reputation attested. He could read the slight signals of Geralt's body so well, pushing when he'd relaxed enough, giving him gentle in-out strokes when the second finger was just on the verge of too much. He clearly knew where the sweet spot inside of Geralt was, too, what with the way he glanced just past it without touching, relying on the more subtle pleasure of the pressure and stretch of his fingers instead.

"Fuck," Geralt said, when the third finger slid in, smooth as fresh-churned butter. He got his knees up under him, needing to push back against the fullness and motion of Jaskier's fingers inside him. To feel a little more in control instead of just laying there and letting the bard play him like his lute. Jaskier made an amused noise behind him, moving with Geralt and keeping his fingers tucked securely inside.

"Too much or not enough?" he asked again, stroking gently against Geralt's walls in some kind of maddening alternating rhythm. 

Geralt took in a breath and turned his head to the side. "Not enough," he decided, taking a few deep, gulping breaths. 

Jaskier slid his fingers almost all the way out, tugging at Geralt's rim, before he shoved them back in once, twice. "Well, that's easily remedied," he said, pulling out properly this time. Geralt could hear the jar opening again, and a few skin-on-skin noises muffled by the slick, and then Jaskier's hands were at his hips. "Deep breath in," he said.

The firm, unrelenting press of Jaskier's cock inside of him was exactly what Geralt had wanted, and he shoved his hips back and groaned as the bard bottomed out inside of him. "Fuck," he said again, this time a low, satisfied noise.

Jaskier chuckled behind him, and it was gratifyingly breathless. "This more what you wanted, my dear witcher?" he asked, stilling to allow them both to adjust. His nails bit into Geralt's skin with the effort of his control, a tiny prickling sensation that just added to the heat that burned inside.

"Fucking _move_ ," Geralt grunted, almost ready to flip them around and do it himself. Now that he'd had Jaskier inside him, he wanted to get fucked for real. He rocked his hips back illustratively.

"Ah," Jasker gasped, and pulled out and pushed in, just once, reflexively. "Well, if you insist." He shifted on his knees, adjusting his positioning and tilting Geralt's hips a certain way, before he pulled back and _thrust_.

Geralt gasped as the air was pushed out of him. There was more power in Jaskier's hips and thighs than he'd thought, and his cock inside felt so good when he wielded that power for strong, steady thrusts that made a fine sweat break out on Geralt's face and back. " _Mm_ ," he groaned appreciatively when Jaskier found the spot inside him that sang with pleasure, three strokes in.

Jaskier laughed again and pulled Geralt's hips in to meet his thrusts, deepening them, making space inside Geralt for his cock. Not that he had to try hard - Geralt was pushing into his strokes, relaxing and clenching in turns around him, yielding to the hot sweet press of a really good fucking. He hadn't had this since well before the mountain, since it hadn't exactly been the time to be ass-up, and no matter how well enchanted, a wood or stone cock was always subtly different than one Nature had grown. Unflagging and just the size one wanted, of course, but the slight softness to a flesh cock, the pulsing of the blood through the veins, also had its merits. 

"Do you like this?" Jaskier asked, and Geralt groaned again, this time half-irritated. Of course the bard would want to talk through this. "Am I fucking you just the way you thought of?" 

Geralt turned his head with an effort, smearing a line of spit across his cheek where he'd had his mouth half-open without realizing, dumb with pleasure. "I thought of it harder, since you're asking," he said, voice like gravel over worn stone.

"Harder, really?" Jaskier asked, sweat gleaming on his neck and face. "I am just a mere mortal, Geralt, but since you're asking, I'll try, just for you." He leaned over Geralt's back, pushing his face back into his arms, and took a firmer grip on Geralt's hips.

He did fuck Geralt harder, and Geralt's fingers involuntarily clenched at the power behind them, hitting him in the spot that made his cock drop. His mouth dropped open, and only by the slightest margin did he prevent himself from yelling. " _Yes_ ," he gasped out into the sheets, and Jaskier gasped an answering groan and did it again, more, until Geralt was really drooling and the spring in his gut was almost wound to breaking again.

"Touch yourself," Jaskier gasped, voice broken in pleasure and effort. "I'm going to come soon, I can't reach you, touch yourself, please," and punctuated this with three great thrusts that almost lost their rhythm.

Geralt wormed a hand under himself and grasped his dripping cock. It wouldn't take long. Ten good strokes should do it, but he just held it for now, didn't move. "I want to feel you inside," he gasped back. "Come in me, Jaskier, now."

Jaskier groaned, low and ragged, and let his hips go wild. It didn't take him long either before Geralt felt the hot flood of come in him, the hot sticky weight of the bard slumped across his back, the heaving breaths against his neck. He squeezed his cock then, and stroked fast and messy, and spilled across the sheets, squeezing around the still-hard pressure of Jaskier's cock inside him, feeling him gasp again. Then he stayed, locking his knees that were wobbly with the pleasure of his orgasm, until Jaskier got it together enough to sit up and slowly slide out. They both rolled to opposite sides of the bed then, sweaty and panting.

After a few moments, Jaskier spoke, as chipper as if he'd just finished a relaxing meal. "Well! That was one habit that was certainly rewarding to cultivate."

Geralt slowly turned his head to look at him. "Cultivate?" he asked. No. He didn't.

"Well, yes, Geralt, do you think I didn't notice how strongly you reacted that once? I've been trying to get a rise out of you for years, there was no way I was going to let a weapon that strong leave my arsenal. Granted, of course, I didn't think the reaction would be quite like this or I would have gotten my piercings _years_ ago." He smiled, happy and carefree, wilfully disregarding the scowl gathering on Geralt's brow.

"You've spent weeks driving me mad on purpose," Geralt said, not because he doubted it but because the words needed to be said. Jaskier didn't show any signs of concern at the gathering anger in his voice.

"Really, are you surprised?" he asked. 

Geralt grunted low in his throat. No, he wasn't. "I shouldn't have let you come," he said. "I wouldn't have, if I'd known."

Jaskier laughed. "Well, we can always save that for next time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://sirsparklepants.tumblr.com) if you want to keep abreast of my current projects and/or have a ten-days-delayed stream of content from my queue.


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